The Best Gift: A Christmas Father's Day Tale
by Ridley C. James
Summary: Young Winchesters. Pre-Series. Brotherood verse. Winchesters have never had much luck with holidays. This Christmas proves no different and finds Dean and Sam in a perilous situation from which only their father and The Triad can save them. One of Pastor Jim's Christmas miracles might be required.
1. Chapter 1

The Best Gift: A Christmas Father's Day Tale

By: Ridley

A/N: I know it's June and Christmas is months away. I also know I have a huge story in progress currently, (I have not forgotten, I promise) so forgive me but it is a tiny piece I couldn't resist with Father's Day this coming weekend in the states. So, consider this an extremely late Merry Christmas or even better- an early Father's Day surprise!

RCJ

 _"If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant: if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome." –Anne Bradstreet_

"This is not how I imagined I might be using mistletoe this year." Hollis Newberry sighed as he held up one of the long branches of Santalacea spread on Pastor Jim Murphy's kitchen table. "There will be some brokenhearted ladies in Star, Mississippi tonight."

Hollis was a new recruit. The twenty-two year old son of a veteran hunter Caleb Reaves had never met, but had heard Bobby mention on occasion. Hollis had not had his silver ring long. Caleb had hunted with him once a few months back per John Winchester's order. The burly blond had failed to make an impression, good or bad until this particular disastrous hunt. Caleb imagined the guy's skills with women were probably just as flawed and amateurish.

"It doesn't say much that you have to depend on a plant and some antiquated legend to get some action from the fairer sex, Dude." Caleb's foul mood might have caused the playful jab to come off more hostile than he intended. Pastor Jim shot him a look that bordered on disappointment.

"I have never understood how a parasitic plant that destroys its host by depriving it of the most basic needs and nutrients ever came to be associated with romance." Mackland Ames attempted to cover for his son's rudeness.

Caleb glanced to where his father was busy pouring over a book on Germanic witchcraft. He didn't look up, but Caleb supposed he should be grateful for the attempt at a redirect. Cracking on Hollis was not going to help matters. Pounding the grunt's skull might be an option if things continued to go south.

"I believe we can blame Victorian England for that," Bobby Singer spoke up, surprising Caleb once again with his vast knowledge of all things trivial. The crass mechanic was better read than most of Caleb's graduating glass at Auburn. "They were the first ones to use mistletoe in their Christmas celebration, coercing young lovers to swap spit in the midst of respectable society."

"Forget the Christmas connections, Bobby," John Winchester growled, his mood more fowl than that of his protégé's. The Knight was rarely affable but throw in a threat to his family and John's darker side was assured to emerge. "I want to know this stuff is going to kill the winter witch."

"The Beira is actually not a witch, but a Caillech, a weather deity," Mackland looked at The Knight."Some sort of god."

Pastor Jim Murphy cleared his throat, arching a silver brow in Mac's direction. "In twenty five years of hunting the supernatural, many of those as The Guardian, I have never ran across a creature even close to deserving such a title as a god. These beings often turn out to be a few notches up on the food chain or of the demonic persuasion."

"I'm merely quoting Esme's notes." Mac deferred. Caleb didn't miss the hint of a smile, or John's eye roll. Jim Murphy had no problem spouting the possibility of dragons and the likes of Merlin and Knights of the Round Table, but saw room for only one true God.

"Speaking of sore spots, has anyone else noticed Mac's sudden sensitivity to tossing around the 'W' word," Bobby smirked, nudging Mac's elbow. "How is the lovely Esme Madrigal by the way? Is 'Mesme' on again after last year's time out? She was rather willing to help us with all this Norse lore."

Caleb watched The Scholar's face color, the doctor's mouth opened and closed without any forthcoming response. Any other time he might have enjoyed seeing his unflappable father speechless. The reminder of his own grave predicament at the hands of a wendigo the previous Christmas, which was the impetus for Mac and Esme's break-up, brought his focus back on the present holiday calamity.

"What makes you think the mistletoe will work, Dad?"

"Honestly, it's mostly conjecture based on the few writings from hunters we have concerning similar creatures."

"That bitch has Sam and Dean. Conjecture isn't going to cut it."

The only reason Caleb hadn't completely lost him mind before now was the fact he knew the boys were alive. His psychic connection told him that much, although not much more. The same link that allowed him the small comfort John's sons were still breathing also told him his best friend was hurt and in pain. The hours old vision of Dean's peril still echoed across synapses, clung like fog to Caleb in a form of a merciless headache that had the occasional black dots swarming before his eyes. Caleb stayed glued against the counter instead of pacing out his frustration. All he needed was to lose last night's drive thru dinner on Pastor Jim's floor.

"No hunter has dealt with this type of creature in seventy years or more years, Son. At least none that wrote it down. They don't usually warrant our attention." Mac gestured to the books and papers spread before them. "You know how much of our field is piecemeal and conjecture at best. As much as it pains me, sometimes the trial, error and hope for the best method is all we have at our disposal."

"Then how do we even know we're dealing with a Beira?" Caleb wasn't convinced they were even lukewarm on their quest to pin down exactly what John and his sons had been hunting when the unthinkable happened. Mac was right of course, hunting the supernatural was not an exact science.

"That would be the tried and true method of ruling out what we know we _aren't_ hunting, Kid." Bobby grunted as if Caleb should know better, which he did. Unlike Hollis, Caleb had been a ring bearing hunter since he was eighteen. Seven years under his belt as an official member of The Brotherhood, and years before that trailing after Bobby and John should have taught him better, but a threat to Dean and Sam was enough to have him coming undone, acting like a fresh recruit.

"What about the fact Beira rarely attack humans? That they usually only respond to a direct threat to themselves or nature. Like Mac said, they don't usually show up on our radar." Caleb might have been playing devil's advocate but he wouldn't waste time chasing false leads when Dean and Sam were in danger.

"Caleb has a point, but I believe Esme and Missouri are right about the creature's appearance and subsequent attacks being tied to the odd weather we have been having." Jim stood, making his way to the coffee pot which just happened to be on the counter Caleb was leaning against. Both dogs scrambled from under the table where they'd been napping, trotting after their master in hopes he might be going for their treat jar. The preacher met Caleb's gaze, gave a small smile as Scout rubbed her broad head against Caleb's jean clad leg and Atticus promptly sat on Caleb's feet. "The seasons are terribly askew in the area where the victims were found. Seventy five degrees on December twenty third, I daresay we won't be having the white Christmas Samuel used to request in his yearly letter to Santa."

"And don't forget all the vics have been frozen solid, like human popsicles." Hollis held up a photo- copied sketch Esme had faxed Mackland. It was of an unearthly beautiful woman, dressed in a flowing cape and holding a large decorative staff. "The blade on this staff that the Beira uses to freeze the ground for winter's arrival could definitely explain the strange mark we found on the other kids' corpses."

"That's it." Caleb started to move forward, deciding that taking his anger out on Hollis would not be such an imposition. After all, it had to be his fault that Dean and Sam had gotten taken. John would have never let that happen.

Jim gripped his arm before he could move. Atticus whined. "His intent is not malicious, my boy. He's not trying to infer Sam and Dean have suffered the same fate. Learning one's way around us when family is compromised is akin to taking a stroll through a field of land mines in enemy territory."

Caleb knew The Guardian was right. Hollis was new to The Brotherhood, and not exactly privy to the inner workings of The Triad and those closest to them. Few hunters were. The only reason the man was here now was that he happened to be on the hunt with John when Sam and Dean disappeared and they could use all the manpower they could get. As the Knight of The Brotherhood John was charged with making sure new hunters understood the ropes. That meant field training. Although John Winchester had his own agenda, he took his command seriously, and sometimes Caleb let himself believe that his mentor believed in his mission, perhaps even enjoyed it.

"Newberry has a point." John took the paper from Hollis. "The wound was the one missing piece I couldn't make fit in the puzzle. It was clean through, almost star-shaped. Sammy used it to shoot down my succubus theory."

The mention of Sam's knack for research doused the flame Hollis's casual talk of corpses had ignited. Last year thirteen year old Sam's relentless sleuthing had revealed a pattern Harland Sawyer and Ian Hastings had missed. It suggested a wendigo, not a werewolf, had attacked Caleb and Ian's brother, prompting Sam and Dean to launch their own rescue party when everyone else had given Caleb up for dead. Caleb would not repay them by losing his cool and letting his emotions cloud his mind. Hollis was safe for now.

"Let me see." Caleb gave the pastor a nod he hoped conveyed he wasn't intent on tearing Hollis's limbs from his torso and using them to beat some sensitivity into him. Jim must have understood because he let him go with another reassuring squeeze and went back to retrieving his coffee. Atticus and Scout stayed where they were. The prospect of a bacon strip even more enticing than shadowing one of their boys.

John handed the paper off and Caleb focused on the staff, trying to remember any detail from his earlier vision now that he had some distance from the event. His headache had notched back to tolerable. The stick in the picture could have been made of a light-colored wood, maybe white ash. A carved intricate pattern ran the entire length until it ended at the shaft of what looked like a blade made of crystal. A pain flared behind Caleb's eyes, a bright light flashing to reveal an image of Dean and Sam in the forest. It was familiar, pieces of his first vision.

Caleb watched from the eyes of his best friend's attacker as the Winchesters were surprised from behind. Dean lifted his gun, but wasn't quick enough to avoid the spear that was stabbed into his side. Blood froze before it hit the ground. Drops falling from the wound to land like scattered shining rubies. Dean's pain was instant and breath stealing. It pulsed through Caleb like molten lava, yet Caleb could not deny the rush of cold that fired along every synapse. He fought to pull in air, too tangled up in Dean's misery to do anything but watch his best friend freeze to death.

"Caleb!"

John's sharp voice cut through Caleb's current misery, releasing him from the flashback's hold. He managed to breathe again pushing Dean's cry of agony to the dark recesses, while still holding on to what he'd seen of the staff that had been used against his best friend.

"Son?"

"I'm good." Caleb blinked his father's concerned face into focus, giving a shake of his head. Mac had moved from the table, standing shoulder to shoulder with John.

"The weapon could definitely be the same," Caleb told them, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead where the drumming had picked up rhythm behind his skull. He swayed slightly on his feet and felt Mac reach out and grip his forearm.

"Sit down, Caleb."

Mac's tone left no room for argument. Caleb took a seat in the chair Pastor Jim pulled out for him without a fuss . He looked up at The Guardian. "I didn't pay it much attention before, but it looks similar to the picture and it has a power to it. It most definitely has the ability to freeze things."

John moved to Caleb's other side, taking the chair Mac had vacated. "Did you see the witch this time, Kid? Any specific landmarks we could follow to find where she is holding the boys?"

"Nothing new, Johnny." John had already asked those same question when Caleb suffered the vision the first time a few hours before. It had struck as soon as Caleb had climbed out of the jeep when he and Bobby pulled into the driveway at Jim's. John had met them before they could take a step towards the farmhouse, chomping at the bit for any information. Caleb wondered if seeing John in person, picking up on his fear for Sam and Dean had been enough to trigger the vision, or if Caleb had been on the verge since getting the call from John that his sons were missing, his mind merely holding it at bay while he was driving. Either way, John had been present for the entire episode, and had wanted a thorough debriefing which left the Knight even more frustrated.

"Damn it." John ran both hands through his hair, standing once more to pace the floor. "This is getting us nowhere."

"I'm sorry." Caleb knew John's anger wasn't directed at him, at least not intentionally, but it still stung and left Caleb feeling as if he weren't trying hard enough. His visions were at best like a highlight reel he watched through the monster's field of vision. Typically he was thankful for their brevity and the distance he was provided, but in this case he would have given his right arm for more information.

"It's not your fault, Son," Mac squeezed Caleb's shoulder before once more picking up the journal he'd been studying.

Jim sat the cup of coffee he'd poured himself in front of Caleb, slid a small container of cream beside it. "Now we can be quite certain of what we're dealing with and how to handle her."

"That's once we find the bitch," Bobby pointed out, unhelpfully.

"If we find her," Hollis threw his unwanted two cents in. "John and I looked for hours with no luck."

Caleb didn't even bother to glower at Newberry. Why waste energy on beating the crap out of him when he could do something productive. He rested his head in his hands as the others continued to speculate. Caleb closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath and focusing all his energy. He momentarily ignored the connection to Dean and Sam to find what he was looking for. The threads that tethered him to the boys were always the brightest when Caleb dove into the recesses of his mind but the one he latched onto this time was duller, a barely there fiber that was created the moment he connected with the thing that had hurt Dean. Most of the time Caleb tried not to think of the fingerprints the creatures he connected with in visions left behind, but they were telltale marks on his psyche, a taint that taunted Caleb he was somehow one of them. On occasion when there was no other recourse he backtracked, used the links formed to delve into the darkness, to come alongside his tormentors.

A well-meaning Mac had pointed out on more than one occasion that plunging headlong into an abyss was not advisable, nor was it in Caleb's best interest. Unwillingly connecting with the supernatural in a vision was different than making a conscious decision to grab on and hold hands with something evil. For one it took a hell of a lot of psychic energy, which burned through the body's resources like a marathon run. Then there was the less physical, but more damaging risk to a guy's psyche. It was one that Caleb agreed wasn't usually worth taking, but this was Sam and Dean. Caleb would do whatever it took to bring them home, even if it meant losing just another tiny bit of his soul to what he liked to think of as the dark side of the Force. Threats of him going Vader aside, the task wasn't easy while riding the after effects of a vision; but his abilities had grown over the years to a point that sometimes scared Caleb with what he could do when he literally set his mind to it.

Caleb wasn't sure what to expect upon contact with the creature, but hoped the Beira wasn't as evil as say a black dog. Surely a nature deity wouldn't be comparable to the things they usually took on and the vibe he'd picked up from the staff hadn't been exactly bad, just powerful. His hopefulness had not prepared him for the backlash that assaulted him.

Caleb was pulled under as sure as being caught in a riptide, fast and quick, no chance to draw in a breath as if the creature had its hands around his throat. Dread and misery lashed out at him as the being reacted to Caleb's intrusion. Caleb might have been overcome if not for the blue spark that pierced the brackish mire in his mind. It effectively and instantly broke his tenuous contact with the entity. He thought to find Mac on the other end of the life line, but it was Jim staring at him when he forced his eyes open with a gasp. The Guardian had Caleb's face framed in his hands, a look of worry quickly being replaced by one of exasperation.

"Jim," Caleb choked when he could speak again. He wasn't sure how long he'd been out. Caleb could lose track of time when he was completely engulfed in his abilities.

"Breathe." Jim removed one hand with a heavy sigh when Caleb drew one desperate breath then another. He patted Caleb's cheek, albeit a little rougher than usual. "That was not your smartest play, my boy. Brave, yes, but entirely reckless."

"I've been telling him for years that courage don't trump stupid," Bobby chimed in, adding to Caleb's chagrin. "He's not overloaded on the brain cells as it is."

Caleb ignored the mechanic and didn't dare look at his father who he could sense on the peripheral, holding back on the reprimand Caleb was sure he would have gotten if they hadn't had a near stranger in their midst. As it was, Hollis was no doubt standing slack-jawed wondering what all the fuss was about. Caleb was sure he'd just tossed some gasoline on the fire of rumors surrounding his abilities. Caleb took his first easy breath and focused on the only person who would approve of his risk considering the reward.

"Junior?" John asked, kneeling in front of him.

"Staff or no staff, I don't think we're dealing with any witch or deity," Caleb told The Knight. "I think it's a freakin' darkling."

"A darkling?" Mac touched Caleb's shoulder, reclaiming his attention. "But that makes no sense. They can't control the weather, nor do they use any type of weapon like the one you witnessed in the vision."

"What's a darkling?" Hollis asked.

"If you think about it, Mac, it makes a whole hell of a lot of sense." John ignored Hollis's question, turning to Bobby instead. "Remember North Carolina a few years back when you, me and the kid ran across the one that had us chasing shadow demons? It led us on one hell of a wild goose chase before trapping us in that cave for its own little dinner party."

"I remember it nearly ripped out Junior's throat," Bobby replied.

Caleb glared at him. "Because you used me as bait."

"What's a shadow demon?" Hollis demanded, missing the point.

"If I recall, darklings are known for their malicious meddling," Jim ran a hand through his unruly silver hair. "They thrive on wreaking havoc and annoying their supernatural peers. They also have a penchant for stealing things, especially shiny things that hold any semblance of power. What if this particular darkling saw an opportunity to take a Beira's staff and to use it for nefarious purposes? It would explain the condition of the victims, and what Caleb saw in his vision."

"Unlike Beira, darklings are known for their cruelty," Mac conceded. "They despise human kind."

"They sure as hell don't care to shed innocent blood, especially if there's something in it for them. Bastards would as soon kill a person as look at one," Bobby growled. "They're like goblins on steroids."

"Many believe they are cousin to the elf," Mac said as if that explained everything. One only needed to meet an elf to understand how any creature related to one might be bad news.

"Darklings are related to elves? Like Legolas and Arwen elves?" Hollis piped up again.

Caleb cut his gaze to Newberry, wondering if Jim had been coerced or black-mailed by the kid's dad into giving Hollis a ring. It wasn't the first time Caleb had wondered about the whole 'legacy' stuff. Ian Hasting and Joshua Sawyer had also gotten rings from Jim. Caleb often doubted either one of them or their buddy Fisher deserved a pass into The Brotherhood. "Forget everything you thought you ever knew about elves from watching Tolkien, Newbie. No elf ever looked like Liv Tyler, and you can cross Santa's little helpers out of your mind too. Elves are bloodthirsty carnivores with a taste for the flesh of virgins, especially young boys. Darklings are some sort of half breed variety. I don't even want to know what they're mixed with."

"Something straight out of the bowels of hell would be my guess," Bobby replied.

"Caleb, are you absolutely sure about this?" Mackland asked.

"It felt familiar, Mac." Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose, not sure how to explain to his 'logic first' father what his gut was telling him. "I haven't connected with many things on the dark side, not consciously anyway, but I did touch the one that trapped me and Johnny and Bobby when it tried to eat me for dinner. I had to distract it. It wasn't like any kind of displaced spirit or creature I've had the displeasure of mind-melding with. I can't really explain it, only that it felt empty, like it was lacking anything that might have made it once human."

"Light," Jim spoke up. "It was missing light."

"That's one way to put it," Caleb said, barely meeting Jim's gaze.

"Which is why when you touched it, it responded so violently." Jim squeezed Caleb's shoulder as if he could read the younger man's thoughts. "It's why it lashed out at you. Creatures that know only the dark do not respond well to the bright of day."

Caleb appreciated what the pastor was implying even if he wasn't entirely sure Jim's optimism where his character was concerned was necessarily warranted.

Bobby snorted. "Then, Junior, being the ray of sunshine that he is, would have just alerted the monster that we're on to him."

"Possibly." Mac sighed.

"All the more reason to find the bastard quickly," John responded.

"Especially since we're probably not the only ones looking for it."

Hollis's statement had all eyes on him. It was the first intelligent thing he'd said, but it made Caleb's skin crawl just the same. "Come again."

Newberry shrugged, not looking so sure of himself now that he had garnered the complete Triad's attention, not to mention Bobby and Caleb's intense gazes. "I mean, if the staff belongs to the Beira and the darkling took it and is using it in a totally evil way then…"

"Then she would be desperate to get it back before it drew unwanted attention to her," Caleb finished for Hollis. He looked to John. "Like the attention of The Brotherhood."

"Most creatures go to great limits to stay off our radar as you put it earlier," Pastor Jim agreed. "It would not be in her best interest or her kind if we were led to believe she or her sisters were hurting humans on our watch."

"If the darkling sensed the Beira was closing in, it might be just as desperate for a way out of the crosshairs. It had it's fun but wouldn't be willing to answer for its crimes." John nodded. "The bastard could be thinking we'd take care of the problem for it, especially if we thought the Beira had dared to attack one of our of own."

"You actually believe this creature has the foresight to plan such an intricate reuse?" Mac shook his head. "But how could it be sure the Beira would show up?"

"Because she would link with Dean," Caleb of course had no proof of what he was suggesting, but it made a sick kind of sense. "She's probably been trailing the darkling by its victims. I lay money she can sense when the staff is used, can detect the cold it causes. It's why the darkling left Dean alive. The signal is probably stronger with Dean suffering and not dead."

"In the heat wave we've been having a blast of the frigid in the region wouldn't be hard to detect, Kid," Bobby added. "Anyone with a nose for cold could follow the trail."

"I think what Caleb is proposing is not quite as literal," Mac met his son's gaze. "You think the Beira is linked to the staff, and therefore connected to the victims of its power psychically."

"The staff had an energy all of its own," Caleb nodded.

"As do most supernatural relics," Jim broke in. "Magical instruments and cursed objects often give off certain signatures."

"Like the box you had Dean and I pick up for you at Thanksgiving." As The Guardian of The Brotherhood, Jim had made it his special mission to collect supernatural objects, especially ones that could be used as weapons against the innocent.

The pastor raised a white eyebrow. "Yes, the one you weren't supposed to touch."

Caleb's mouth twitched. "Just call me Pandora."

"If I recall you explained how it called to you like a siren?"Jim arched a brow. "Dean said you were unable to resist its pull."

Bobby made a production of coughing, masking the barely intelligible word, 'bullshit'.

Caleb glared at the mechanic and then turned his gaze on Jim. So maybe his and Dean's curiosity had played a part in their poor decision making as well. "Is that how we put it?"

"You did, and I'm thinking that perhaps the staff might register the same effect."

"You think I could track it, just like the Beira." At the least, Caleb hoped he might be able to use it to increase his likelihood to connect with Dean.

Jim must have been thinking the same thing. "Distance and whatever warding the darkling has used may hinder your link to Sam and Dean currently, but the staff would be on a completely different wavelength."

"That would be a reasonable conclusion," Mac concurred, bolstering Caleb's confidence. "Caleb may even be able to triangulate with the three distinct patterns, but I'm not sure it would be advisable for him to make the kind of connection that would be needed to something we aren't entirely clear about."

"We're talking about Sam and Dean's lives, Mac," John started. "If we're right about that thing, and what it plans to do, then it won't likely leave us with living witnesses to refute the story it wants us to buy into."

"I love those boys, Johnathan. You know I would do anything for them. I'm only suggesting caution where my son is concerned."

"John's right." Caleb wasn't sure if it was an automatic default to look to The Knight. He liked to believe it was because despite John's faults as a father, his priority was always to protect Sam and Dean first and foremost. "I'll do whatever it takes to find Dean and Sam before the darkling can do any more damage."

"With this new information, we should go back to the woods where we lost the boys' trail and let Caleb try." John gestured to the branches Bobby had fashioned into arrows. "Bring those just in case we end up dealing with the Beira."

"I'm guessing mistletoe doesn't kill darklings?" Hollis asked Caleb.

"We should be so lucky to use a crossbow." Caleb reached up and traced a faint scar that ran about an inch just beneath his jaw line. He watched Hollis's Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed hard. "Darklings take a more hands on approach."

"What does that mean exactly?" Hollis's eyes were wide now, all his earlier cockiness having fled.

"It means you have to get up close and personal, cut off their heads, Rookie." Bobby made a slashing sign across his throat. "Youngest hunter always gets to be the distraction."

"Distraction?" Hollis squeaked.

Caleb snorted. "He means bait."

"Is that in the handbook?"

If Dean was there the two of them would have gotten a kick out of Newberry's query about the legendary Brotherhood Bible. As far as Caleb knew it didn't nor had it ever existed. Although older hunters, including him on occasion when he wanted to irk Dean, loved to quote its fictional prose. "Don't worry, Newberry. Darklings, like their elf cousins, prefer virgins."

Caleb doubted that was true if the way the one darkling he'd crossed had torn into him, but he couldn't help himself. After all, Sam and Dean had fallen into enemy hands on Hollis's watch. He slapped an ashen Newberry on the back. "I'm sure a guy with your prowess with the ladies has absolutely nothing to worry about."

TBC-tomorrow! Reviews are always welcome!


	2. Chapter 2

Dean Winchester was cold. A cold that make his bones brittle, one that surrounded him, as if his blood had been exchanged for some sort of glacial mix. It was worse than when he'd be charged with taking care of the horses at Pastor Jim's on the occasional winter morning when the world beyond the kitchen doors looked like an arctic tundra. _This_ cold engulfed him like he'd stepped onto the frozen pond only to crash through the shiny white surface into the frigid waters below, ensuring a certain death if no one pulled him free. Somewhere in the back of his mind a familiar voice urged him to fight, to hold on. If he didn't he'd be finished. A prospect of a hunter's funeral pyre almost seemed like a reprieve, yet Dean struggled. Fought. He came to consciousness with a wild gasp of breath as sure as if he'd broken from the icy depths of a watery grave.

"Dean!" Sam's voice was high pitched and panicked. It anchored Dean. Calmed, if not warmed. If he'd had the energy he would have made some crack about his little brother sounding like a girl. As it was he barely managed to open his eyes.

Sam's worried face blurred in and out of focus. "Stay awake, Dean. Please stay awake."

"Sammy?" Dean couldn't keep his teeth from chattering.

"I'm here."

Dean frowned at his brother. "What happened? Where's Caleb?"

"Caleb's not here." Sam looked worried.

"I heard him." Dean blinked. Caleb had told him to hold on, to stay with them. "I heard him."

Sam's frown deepened. "He wasn't with us on the hunt."

"Hunt?" Dean was sure he had heard Caleb, so certain he looked past his brother, taking in their surroundings. They were in an old shed, faint light barely visible through some of the cracks between planks. The lone window was boarded up from the outside.

"Dean." Sam touched his face and the younger boy's fingers felt like fire. "Are you with me?"

"Yeah," Dean pulled back, trying to get his bearings. "Where are we? Why are you so freakin' hot?"

Sam grinned. "Finally, you admit I'm the good looking brother."

"Cute," Dean grit his teeth, as his brother pressed his hand against his forehead. Now was not the time for his brother to grow a sense of humor. "Sam?"

"It's not that I'm hot, it's that you're cold. Very, very cold." Sam's face darkened as he withdrew his hand.

"That's because it's freezing in here." Dean had images of the old ice houses people once used to store their meat and other perishables. He didn't see any tell-tale blocks of ice but he was pretty certain he was laying on one.

"It's not cold in here, Dean." Sam gestured to himself. He was wearing an Auburn tee shirt, a hand me down of Caleb's from his college days that proved Sam had hit a growth spurt.

"Damn." Dean coughed. "Are you sweating? "

"It's like seventy-five," Sam reiterated, his changing voice going up a decibel. "I've been trying everything to warm you up. Nothing works."

"Just tell me you didn't spoon me." Dean tried for a smile. "Because you know I'd rather freeze to death, right?"

"I wouldn't joke about that." Sam's face remained serious, fear deepening the green in his eyes. He looked a lot like their dad. Dean felt a pang of guilt. Sam was scared. Dean had a foreboding feeling he was in no shape to offer any kind of reassurance.

"Joking is my thing, remember."

Sam's gaze remained dark and stormy. "That thing Dad was hunting, the one we couldn't pin down, it stabbed you with some kind of spear. You've been out of it ever since. You scared the crap out of me, Dean."

"I'm sorry, Kiddo." Dean had a flash of the woods. He and Sam had been on a hunt with their Dad and Hollis Newberry. They had split up to cover more ground and Dean and Sam had stopped to look at a track. They were bent over trying to make out the markings when Dean remembered getting a whiff of something rancid right before a searing pain tore through his side. He thought he'd been shot, but then he'd heard the growl. When he'd turned he'd been met with a face straight of a nightmare.

"I still don't know what it is," Sam was saying. "It looks a little like an elf, but a lot uglier. But since when do elves use weapons?"

"Uglier than an elf?" Dean arched a brow. "Now that's an achievement."

Sam clenched his hands into fists, color warmed his face. "I tried to get a shot off, but it was too close to you. It hit me with the other end of the staff and I was out. I woke up here. It took our weapons and our duffel. The radios, too."

"Are you okay?" Dean took a better look at his brother, the loss of their equipment paling under the possibility he'd let his little brother get hurt. If there was a wound, it was hidden by the mass of floppy hair Sam refused to cut.

"I'm fine, Dean." Sam brushed the concern aside with an eye roll that was common place these days. "Did you not hear what I said? You're the one that's in trouble. You were stabbed! The wound on your side looks a lot like the marks Dad and Hollis found on the bodies at the morgue. We both know what happened to them."

Dean looked down to his chest. His brother had found some old army blankets in the shed. They were piled on top of Dean. Dean shoved at the dirty, damp wool, until he could see his own t-shirt. The odd warm weather had them dressing lighter than a normal December in North Carolina. Dean longed for his leather jacket that he'd left in the Impala. His fingers were clumsy and slow to respond to his commands feeling as if he'd thrown one too many snow balls without gloves. When he managed to lift the end he saw Sam hadn't bothered with a bandage. There wasn't any need. The puncture was clean, star-shaped with the skin around it ashen, almost bluish in color. It hurt, Dean hurt, but the ache was distant, almost like a dull throbbing from an old injury. Dean knew the lack of pain and blood, which might have been good in other injuries, was probably not a positive sign in his current case

"The bleeding stopped quickly, more like it froze." Sam pulled the blanket up once more around Dean. "I think it's spreading, like some kind of poison."

Dean didn't protest when Sam replaced the covering, tucking them around Dean's shoulders. "That's not the Christmas present I was hoping for, Dude."

"Stop joking," Sam snapped. "We're trapped in here and I don't know what to do to help you."

"Hey, it's okay."

"It's not okay, Dean."

"Have you tried to get out? "

The question earned Dean another classic teenage eye roll. "What do you think I've been doing besides sharing body heat with you, Jerk?"

Dean tried to sit up. "Maybe if we both put our shoulders into it..."

"No," Sam placed a hand on the center of his chest. "If this is some kind of poison the more you move around the worse it will get. Besides, the door is barred with a crowbar or maybe a shovel, I can't tell. Despite looking like it's ready to fall down the boards in this place are solid. Besides, that thing is still out there. I heard it not too long ago. When I couldn't find a way out. I stacked what barrels and sacks of grain I could find against the door. It might not keep it out, but maybe it will buy us some time."

"That was smart, Sammy." Dean nodded. His brother hadn't completely been ignoring all their father's lessons. "We'll just wait it out. Dad will find us before our guest decides to be a more hands on host."

"That's what I thought." Sam brought his hand to his mouth, biting on the side of his thumb. "Hours ago."

"Hours ago?" Dean mustered enough strength to make it to his elbows and this time Sam didn't try to stop him. He looked to the boarded up window. The light was brighter than it should have been. The last time Dean had checked his watch on the hunt it had been close to four in the morning. His watch was now missing. "Damn. How long have I been out?"

"Seven, maybe eight hours. Morning came and went a long time ago. It's got to be late afternoon."

"What?"

"If Dad was going to find us, he would have done so by now. Whatever that thing is, it covered its tracks. Maybe it can only come out in the dark, and that just gives us a few hours. So, if it took out Dad and Hollis…"

"No way." Dean shook his head. "Dad is too smart for that and you know it, Sam."

"But if it caught us…"

"Then maybe it wanted to use us as bait." Dean wasn't sure how intelligent the thing they were hunting was, but it was smart enough to take their things and their weapons. He was willing to put any theory on the table to counter Sam's thought trajectory.

"You mean it laid a trap for us?"

"I don't think it was a coincidence. Why not kill us out right like the other vics? Why bring us here? It doesn't make sense." Dean wasn't in the habit of trying to figure out why the things they hunted did the things they did but once patterns were established they rarely changed without a reason. Even the supernatural wasn't random.

Sam shrugged. "Then where are Dad and Hollis?If that thing wanted them to find us, shouldn't they have already?"

"They may have gone for back-up," Dean sometimes hated that his brother no longer took his word for the truth, that he had to apply logic to everything. The faith Sam used to cling to seemed to be fading with the onset of puberty.

"Dad wouldn't leave us behind, Dean."

"He would if he thought someone else had a better chance of finding us."

"Caleb."

"I told you I heard Damien's voice." Since the Christmas Dean found himself lost in Rockefeller Center when he was only seven Caleb had an uncanny way of always knowing where Dean was and when he was trouble. It was a connection that Dean couldn't explain, one that some time annoyed the hell out of him, but it was also a link he often relied on. "He's got to be trying to find us. I know it."

"That makes sense." Sam nodded. "Caleb was meeting up with Bobby before coming to Pastor Jim's, right?"

Dean glanced to the window again. He'd talked to Caleb a few hours before they'd headed out on the hunt. "Damien said they would start that way early this morning. The farm's only an hour or so from where we started our hunt. Dad would have known Damien wouldn't be late for Christmas."

Sam's voice softened. "Not like last year."

Dean winced at the mention of the previous year. He had believed Caleb was dead, killed on another hunt gone wrong. "Definitely not our best Christmas."

"But everything worked out in the end." Sam was sounding more like the hopeful kid he could still be at times. His moods could give a guy whiplash. "We found Caleb, Dad saved us all from the wendigo. Jim called it a Christmas miracle. It'll be the same for us this year."

Dean forced a confident grin he didn't feel. "What's a Winchester Christmas without a little mayhem and dastardly poison?"

"Can we not just have one normal holiday, Dean?"

Dean held back on a sigh. Sam had become obsessed with fitting their family into a box they would never belong. "There's that word again, Sammy. We don't exactly do normal."

"But we used to right? I mean before mom?"

"I guess." The mention of their mother drained what little adrenaline Dean had managed. He fought off a shiver with a grimace, reclining once more against the makeshift pillow Sam had created with some kind of sack of grain. "I mean, the first Christmas that really stands out to me was our first one at Pastor Jim's place when you were about a year and half old."

"I bet," Sam frowned. "That's the year Caleb traumatized you by telling you Santa wasn't real? That year has to be at the top of the worst Christmases ever."

"Better traumatized early than beat up in the sixth grade for being the North Pole's great defender." Dean realized his brother was attempting to distract him, to keep him awake. He would play along as long as his body allowed.

"Shut up, jerk." Sam's face reddened. "It was the _fifth_ grade and a black eye doesn't equate being beat up. The other kid got a whole lot worse."

"Thanks to all those moves I taught you, bitch."

"Whatever."

Dean's smile was genuine this time. "Actually that first Christmas at the farm wasn't so bad. I was with you and dad. Jim had his typical huge tree with all the trimmings. I remember the whole place smelled like oranges, popcorn and cinnamon. Atticus Finch was wearing reindeer antlers and sleigh bells. For a brief second I might have entertained Jim being the Big Guy himself."

"Jim as Santa?" Sam laughed.

"You thought old Pastor Solomon was Santa until you were ten."

Sam shrugged, realizing Dean had the upper hand. "Jim does smell like cookies most of the time."

"Santa or not, it was the first time I'd felt really safe since the night of the fire." A look of sadness and something close to pity crossed Sam's face. Dean quickly switched gears. "Besides, I got Damien out of the deal and my first bike, so not a bad Christmas after all."

Sam's mouth twitched, a hint of dimple showing. "Caleb is your favorite Christmas gift?"

"No." Dean knew the answer was too quick and too defensive, because Sam's smile doubled in wattage. He blamed his sick state for the fact he had admitted any such thing out loud. The last thing he needed was for Sam to tell Caleb. Damien's ego was monstrous as it was. "I'm just saying _that_ year was better than the one before it."

Sam lost his grin and Dean almost regretted not letting his brother have his fun when that look of pity returned. Dean hadn't been lying when he said the Christmas at Jim's was the first one that really stuck out to him, but he did remember bits and pieces of that Christmas just weeks after his mother's murder. They were mostly feelings, dark and despairing, but there were a few images Dean would rather forget. Blinking Christmas lights that had been haphazardly strung around a lonely faded pink flamingo in the front of some rundown motel they were staying. His father slumped against the wall, a bottle of Jack Daniels on the nightstand, pictures and pieces of their former lives strewn around him on a rumpled twin bed.

Sam cleared his throat, pulling Dean from the past. "So, you don't remember anything about the ones before mom died?"

"I was four, Sam." Dean shifted, wishing his brother wasn't so dogged. A new wave of cold ran through him and he sighed. Sam's pity had been overtaken once more by concern and fear and Dean couldn't decide which was worse. He took a measured breath and broke his own rule not to reminisce about things that were bound to bring nothing but pain. "I do remember one thing."

"Really?" Sam scooted closer, pulling his knees into his chest, which was no small feat since Dean swore the kid's legs had grown twice as long as the rest of him over the summer. He was a baby giraffe. "Tell me."

"It was the year I got the best present ever."

Sam looked intrigued. "What was it?"

"A football."

"A football?" Sam's sudden skepticism was almost comical. Dean was certain Sam thought he might have been hypothermic and delirious. "But you hate football."

"I don't hate football." Dean snapped in the same way he had denied becoming friends with Caleb being a huge deal. Dean hadn't touched a football since the night of the fire. "I just think baseball is the smarter, more dignified sport."

"Then why the big deal over the football?"

"Because it came with a promise." Dean licked his lips, surprised at how thirsty he was. Thoughts of Pastor Jim's hot chocolate tried to distract him. It brought to mind a recent hunt with Caleb when they'd let their curiosity get the best of them and opened a package Jim had ordered them not to touch. Dean wasn't sure why those thoughts from Thanksgiving floated through his mind, but he shoved them aside and went on with his current bad decision. "Mom and Dad promised me that when spring came I'd have someone to toss it to."

Sam's face lit with understanding. "Mom was pregnant with me that Christmas."

"About four or five months I guess since you showed up in May. She and Dad made a huge deal out of telling me I was going to be a big brother on Christmas Eve. I think I did something girly like insisting we hang a stocking for you."

"So the best Christmas gift you ever got wasn't Caleb or a football? It was actually me." Sam looked entirely too pleased with himself. "I am Dean Winchester's best Christmas memory."

Dean didn't bother to deny the truth this time, but couldn't let Sam get too big of a head. Dealing with one brother's ego was bad enough. "Or maybe it was just the knowledge that I was forever going to be ruler and master over someone younger and far inferior to me." Dean bobbed his brows. "Being a big brother is almost like being an overlord or even better a superhero. Mom and Dad might as well have wrapped up a red cape and given it to me instead of some stupid pig skin."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Right, you're practically Superman."

"I've always liked Batman better." Dean shivered as the cold seeped through another layer of his body. "But I pretty much feel like I'm in The Fortress of Solitude, so maybe the Man of Steel is more poetic."

"You know originally in the 1942 comic Superman's fortress wasn't located in an icy polar cap. It was just in a mountain, kind of like the Rockies."

"Thank you, Trivial Pursuit." Dean clenched his teeth trying to think warm, balmy thoughts. Anything to stave off the grip of unconsciousness he could clearly feel tugging at him once more. He was well aware that going to sleep when you were hypothermic could mean never waking up again. "But I'm smack dab in the polar wastes that we see in the later years."

"I know but Dad and Caleb will find us soon." Sam glanced to the door and then back to Dean."They'll be pissed if they have to carry you out of here and just think how Caleb will rib you for passing out like some girl."

"Damien can be an ass." Dean blinked, understanding what his brother was doing, wishing he could comply and stay the hell awake. "You tell him his timing sucks."

"You can tell him." Sam grabbed Dean's hand, a move that hadn't happened in years. Teenage Sam was proving to be so different from the little boy Dean was used to. He was not tactile, preferring to show his emotions via cold glares and barbed words. He would probably be mortified later. As if reading his thoughts, Sam squeezed tighter. "You know he doesn't listen to anything I say."

Dean wasn't sure Caleb really listened to anyone, except maybe John Winchester. It was a weakness they shared. But even if Dean's father had been the one yelling at him to stay awake, to fight harder, he'd been unable to follow the commands. The temptation to close his eyes to escape the bitter cold and just let go was far too strong, even for a superhero.

Tbc...tomorrow


	3. Chapter 3

"Pick up the pace, boys."

Caleb rolled his eyes at John Winchesters command. He wasn't sure how the Knight expected him to jog through the dimly lit woods, and focus on the link he'd picked up with the Beira's staff. It was faint, but Mac had been right. If he focused on Dean the signal seemed to strengthen so Caleb had at least been able to point them in a direction from the last place John had seen Sam and Dean. From there John had taken the lead, counting on Caleb to tell him if they were off track.

"So you really have like a navigational system in your head?" Hollis huffed beside him.

"No."Caleb sighed. Hollis Newberry's inquiring chatter wasn't helping.

"Then how exactly does your whole psychic thing work?" Hollis made a whirling motion beside his own temple. "How are you acting as Winchester's personal compass?"

Caleb's first inclination was to tell Hollis it was none of his damn business. He wasn't exactly in the habit of sharing when it came to his gifts, nor did he like the insinuation he was at John's beck and call. But it was as if he could feel Pastor Jim's penetrating blue gaze targeting the center of his spine. It was impossible because he knew Jim and Bobby were several yards behind them. Caleb could feel them.

Mac was up ahead with John. It was a rare day when Caleb, or any hunter for that fact, got to witness the entire Triad on a hunt. The novelty was temporarily overshadowed. Jim seemed to be in Caleb's head. He could almost hear the Pastor's words from a few weeks ago. Caleb had disobeyed an order when he'd succumbed to curiosity about the parcel he and Dean had been sent to retrieve. He later worried it might have been something more dastardly on his part, something possibly devilish in nature. The Guardian had found him at midnight nursing a glass of milk and the last remnants of Missouri Mosley's butterscotch pie.

Jim had looked him square in the eye and told him not to be overcome by the possibility of evil, but to overcome all thoughts of evil with every chance at good. It had made Caleb's head hurt worse at the time. With most of Jim's insights, it was starting to sink in. Caleb didn't often run across hunters curious about what his true abilities were, in fact he found most of them preferred their assumptions however incorrect they might be. Sometimes he even encouraged their flawed thinking. Mac called it a defense mechanism, Caleb preferred to see it more as a survival skill. Hollis was offering him a chance to shed some light.

"Every person, everything in nature emits energy, a unique signal that belongs only to them." Caleb sent another quick glance to Hollis. "Some of us, psychics, mediums, telepaths for lack of a better term, are better at picking up on those signals. We can connect to them and use them in ways other people aren't able."

"Like a human EMF?"

It was something Dean would have joked about, comparing Caleb to a device they used to pick up on spiritual activity, but Newberry was completely serious. It was as good an explanation as any. "In some ways, I guess."

"So you could track me if I got lost?"

"Not necessarily." Caleb wasn't sure how to make what was so natural to him, understandable to an outsider. "Have you ever done any sailing, Newberry?"

Hollis grunted loudly. "My daddy is a dirt farmer from Star, Mississippi, Reaves. What do you think?"

"How about star gazing? Even the most backwoods redneck can get a gander of the sky, right?" Caleb knew he deserved the rude hand gesture he was awarded. At least he'd made an effort to make the latest slight seem a bit more jest than insult. After all, Caleb, despite having a very wealthy father and grandfather, was far from a snob. He'd done most of his growing up in the swamps of Louisiana.

"The stars we have."

"Then think of my abilities sort of like a map of the sky. Mac calls it asterism." The term meant marked by the stars and Caleb understood it was a father's attempts to put a positive spin on something his fourteen year old child had found extremely frightening at the time.

"Is that like astrology?"

"No," Caleb knew being patient wasn't his strong suit, but Jim obviously thought him capable. "More like astronomy."

"The constellations."

"Exactly." Caleb momentarily took his gaze from the trail to look heavenward, the winter sky not quite dark enough to see any hint of stars, not even Polaris. He found it ironic that the North Star was hidden seeing as how Dean and Sam tended to hold that placement in the schematics of his psyche. "Some are more familiar to us. They stand out brighter, are easily picked up with the naked eye out of the billions of lights that are actually out there all around us. Others require telescopes and some are some are hidden completely even though we know they are there.

"So your average hunter isn't exactly on your radar."

"Not if they aren't psychic, or I haven't connected with them, or read them. Something I don't do without permission or damn good reason," Caleb was quick to add. "So you could have skipped the obsidian necklace and bracelets."

"How does all that tie into your death visions?" Hollis didn't bother with a denial about the psychic blocking jewelry he was sporting, expertly turning the tables on Caleb instead.

Caleb stumbled, cursed the rocky terrain they were covering now that they had come alongside the French Broad River. He hadn't noticed the roar of the white water until now. It was too much to hope Newberry wouldn't want the low down on the visions, especially after what he'd witnessed at the farm. Caleb had the familiar urge to play them down as he usually did or to revert back to his earlier instincts of rebuffing the question with attitude.

"Jim says it's a heads up that someone needs saving, an S.O.S from the good guys." Caleb had heard other theories form his father and Missouri Mosley, but he liked The Guardian's the best. Jim believed it was a way to keep balance between light and dark. Caleb chose to focus on being a force for good, however a naïve a notion.

"The Pastor thinks they're like an elaborate bat signal from God?"

Caleb snorted despite himself. That was probably exactly what Jim thought. The Guardian believed God loved to give people the chance to do His work, to exercise His strength through their weak vessels.

"That's one theory."

"Huh, it's not the one I've heard."

Caleb slowed his pace, could hear Bobby and Jim's footsteps as they quickly closed the distance between them. He worked hard to keep his voice light. "What have you heard?"

"That your abilities are from a demon." Hollis came to a complete stop, allowing Caleb to do the same. Newberry bent over at his waist, his hands were resting on his knees. He was panting, dripping sweat. He tilted his head to look at Caleb. "That maybe you're as bad as the things we hunt."

It was one thing to catch bits and pieces of rumors, and another to have someone speak the ugly right out loud. Caleb wasn't sure if Newberry was really dumb or really brave. Maybe he was having a heat stroke or a heart attack. No matter, it was his lucky day because now, like at the farm, was not the time for Caleb to knock him on his ass. "I bet that's a real popular one among the ranks, right?"

Hollis shrugged his shoulder. "It makes hunters nervous, especially when they think you're being groomed to be the next Knight."

"I'm not vying for any fucking position in the next Triad, Newberry." Caleb used the tail of his t-shirt to mop the sweat from his face, cursing the freakish humidity. It was worse than an August day in Louisiana. He shook his head. "If you haven't noticed, I'm about as low as a man can be on the totem pole and not be buried in the dirt. I just do what John Winchester tells me to do."

"I get that now." Hollis straightened up, jerked his chin to the trail in front of them where John was no doubt already a couple of clicks ahead. "And if you ask me, _that_ is what should make the guys in the ranks nervous. Forget the demon shit, _Winchester_ is a maniac."

Caleb stared at Hollis for a minute. The guy's eyes were as big as saucers in his shiny red face. As John's protégé, he should have come off with some sort of reprimand in defense of The Knight, but instead Caleb laughed. He couldn't help himself.

"I'm serious, Reaves," Hollis continued, making it worse. "He scares the hell out of me. Like 'shit my pants, shrivel my dick' kind of scared."

It made Caleb laugh harder. Now he was the one bent over, unable to catch his breath. He decided then and there that he liked Hollis Newberry, dumb ass or not. If Dean and Sam made it out of this mess okay, he might even buy the guy a beer.

"What the hell is wrong with you two idgits?" Bobby pulled up behind them, his breath almost as loud as Hollis's.

"Caleb, my boy?" Jim's hand gripped Caleb's shoulder. "Is it a vision?"

"No," Caleb stood up right, facing the Pastor. The Guardian's look of concern was sobering, reminding him of what was at risk. He felt guilty and glanced at Hollis, who had grown quiet in The Guardian's presence. Caleb was pretty sure the guy was even sucking in his gut, holding his breath and might even be tempted to salute. John might be scary, but Jim commanded a different kind of respect. "Newberry and I just needed to catch our breath."

"Maybe John should step up your conditioning, Junior," Bobby grumbled, pulling off his ball cap to run the back of his arm over his brow. Caleb noted the mechanic didn't make a move to start running again. "Sitting behind a drawing desk is making you soft."

Jim squeezed Caleb's shoulder. "I believe we could all do with a short break, a chance to regroup."

"Tell that to the Knight and Scholar," Bobby said.

"Yes, please do, Robert. You run along and report seeing as how you are in tip top shape." Jim waved the mechanic on. "Tell them I said to stand down and we'll catch up."

Bobby's incredulous look almost had Caleb smiling again. The mechanic was no doubt prepared to lament his cause but running footsteps stopped him midsentence. Mac broke through the tree-line his eyes seeking out Caleb first and then holding Jim's gaze.

"We found something."

The something was Dean's radio, his and Sam's weapons. Caleb watched Mac solemnly slip the guns in his pack before moving to where John was knelt by the smashed radio. The encroaching darkness didn't hide the blood stain on the ground at The Knight's feet. In Caleb's mind it glowed as green as a chunk of Kryptonite might. There was something about the spilled blood of someone you loved, someone you were sworn to protect. It had power, real and throbbing as if it still flowed lush and black through veins and arteries giving life instead of stinking of copper and looking as if someone had tried to paint the forest floor with cadmium red.

John glanced at him. "Dean's."

A flash of the vision blazed through Caleb's mind like a streak of lightning. He swallowed thickly, nodded.

"The trail should be easy to follow from here," Jim spoke. "Especially if the darkling intends for us to find him."

"Maybe if I'd kept looking before…" John started, seeing his son's spilled blood stealing some of his typical self assurance.

"You did the right thing," Mac cut him off. "You and Hollis could have spent even more hours back tracking. You were too close to the farm not to get back up."

Caleb looked at John, recognizing the struggle on his mentor's face. It was not the Winchester way to ask for help. John had always depended on himself first and foremost. Reaching out to The Brotherhood after his wife died was a last ditch effort to avenge Mary, to destroy the monster who had wrecked his life, to protect his sons. Despite the fact Caleb knew John was loyal to them, loved them, Caleb also understood The Knight sometimes worried he'd made a terrible error that night in Ohio when Mac and Caleb had come to him with a proposition from Jim Murphy. At the time it had seemed brilliant tactical strategy on his part, maybe the only strategy left to him. Caleb recognized, whether his father did or not, that John had not come to the farm this time out of protocol, or even out of a desire to reach out to his Triad. John had come because he believed his best chance in finding the boys quickly and in one piece was if Caleb could connect with them.

"Forget the trail. I know exactly where they are." Caleb spoke directly to The Knight. He lifted his hand, now smeared with Dean's blood. Spilled or not, it was still a part of Dean, organic material and tangible as a chunk of fallen meteorite. Images of the building Sam and Dean were being held in came to him along with Dean's misery as soon as Caleb had convinced himself to touch it. Whatever warding the darkling had used crumbled underneath its power, as useless as Hollis's obsidian beads in blocking Caleb. The bridge between Caleb and Dean instantly restored. Caleb could not only now communicate with Dean. He could have run blindfolded straight to the place where the boys were being held. "We have to go. Now. I'll show you."

TBC…sometime next week;-)


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: So sorry for the delay. I am hoping that the fact this last chapter is the longest so far will make up for my tardiness. I am now back to working on Prisoners of the Past and possibly a Thanksgiving story that might actually be done around the actual holiday. I love to hear all your comments.

RCJ

Sam heard the sliding of the bar that held their prison door closed just before he sensed the presence of their captor. It wasn't so much an actual physical sensation, but a feeling of dread that crept over him like a sneaky shadow. Hair along his neck rose. Goose flesh covered his exposed arms despite the heat. It brought to mind one of Bobby's familiar quips about a possum crossing over your future grave.

Sam had never really seen the relevance for such a saying in the hunting world considering few former hunters actually had graves, choosing instead a Viking funeral over more traditional routes that left them at risk for becoming the things they most hated, but he could appreciate the sentiment. Sam placed himself in front of Dean, wishing he had more than half a rotten board to defend their position.

The door knob jiggled, the door opened a slither but banged against one of the barrels Sam had drug over. Something growled when its access was blocked by the barricade Sam had attempted.

"Dean!" Sam gripped his older brother's arm, giving him a rough shake. Dean mumbled something but didn't stir. "Now would be the time to wake up, big brother. Please wake up."

Sam wasn't sure how many times he'd professed to not need his brother to protect him especially on the rare occasion he was allowed to come along on a hunt. Currently, he was willing to recant every vow he'd stupidly made about being too old for Dean and Caleb to defend, too capable to be babied.

"Sammy?"

"Dean." Sam took his eyes off the door long enough to check his brother. Dean's eyes were open if not completely focused. He looked worse than when he'd passed out earlier, but Sam took heart that he was at least talking. "Hey! Stay awake! I need you to stay with me. We've got trouble."

"I'm awake." Dean's voice was rough, but he was doing his best to push himself to an upright position. "Where's Caleb?"

Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was déjà vu. "Caleb's not here! I need your help. That thing is coming back. It's at the door."

Dean shook his head stubborn as ever. "Caleb's here. Dad, too."

"The only thing here is the monster that took us!" Sam didn't have time to once again explain the details of how they landed in their current position, how Caleb had not been with them on the hunt, nor was he or their missing father present for a rescue now either, not when said position was about to get much worse.

"It's a darkling." Dean nodded to the door. "We have to hide."

"Hide?" Sam wasn't sure if his brother was in shock or had been having a nightmare. "Where are we supposed to hide? How do you know it's a darkling?"

"Damien told me."

"What…" Sam started.

"Enough with the twenty questions." Dean grunted as he made it to his knees, wrapping his arm across his side. He jerked his chin towards the corner. "Hide back there. Behind the bags of grain."

"What? No!" Sam realized his brother was meaning to face the creature on his own, to offer Sam the only thing he could- time. As much as Sam might have wanted his brother to save the day, he wouldn't let him attempt it on his own.

"Do it, Sammy." Dean got shakily to his feet.

Sam stayed next to his brother as the door crashed inward, the blockade finally giving way under their captor's persistence. Dean stepped in front of Sam. Sam stayed where he was as the creature moved towards them.

Sam had only seen a picture of a darkling in Caleb's journal. Caleb had been hurt by one last year on a hunt with John. While recuperating, he'd drawn a picture of it when Sam had asked what it had looked like. Caleb was a talented artist, so Sam could only assume that the older boy had left out some of the gruesome detail as not to give Sam any extra nightmares. Though the resemblance was undeniable in the faint glow of the lantern light, the darkling before them was ten times more hideous and terrifying than the one Caleb had sketched.

"Hello, fugly," Dean said brightly, moving a few steps forward as if to greet their host. "Your hospitality is almost as hideous as your face."

"Dean," Sam warned. Dean's mouth often worked before his brain. Sam might not have been the seasoned hunter his brother bragged to be, but he was certain taunting the monster holding the huge staff with a razor sharp crystal blade at the end was not a smart plan. Surely, there was some rule against it in the Hunter's Handbook.

The darkling tilted its head, hissed at them.

"Where did a big strapping guy like you get such a girly, pig sticker?" Dean continued. He had the audaciousness to take another step towards the darkling. The darkling inched back towards the door. "Word on the street is you lifted it from a Beira. I'm guessing she's not very happy that you've been using her magic wand to freeze innocent humans instead of her getting a leg up on the winter season. Gives her a bad name I bet with Christmas coming and all. Does your kind like the cold? Because I'm pretty sure you're looking at a lifetime in the arctic region."

Sam wasn't sure darklings were capable of smiling, but it recognized bravado and bluffing when it saw it. The darkling stood its ground, lifted the staff aiming it at Dean's chest.

"Bring it, bitch." Dean moved forward again. "Finish me."

"No!" Sam yelled, forcing his own feet to move. He lunged for his brother, knocking Dean out of the way just as another person leaped through the doorway. There was a flash of silver. Sam watched the darkling's head hit the cabin floor, roll across the bumpy boards as easy as his soccer ball might. The creature's body fell next to where Sam now lay tangled with Dean, his momentum having taken them both down.

"Told you, Sammy," Dean groaned as he tried to roll away from his brother. "Damien's here."

"Superman's got nothing on me, Runt." Sam looked up at the sound of Caleb's voice. The older hunter was holding John Winchester's favorite broad sword, sporting a huge grin on his face. He knelt beside the boys, placing his bloodied sword on the floor beside him before touching Dean's shoulder. "How was that for a last minute rescue, Lois Lane?"

"As usual, your timing sucks." Dean shivered, bringing a hand back to his side. "I almost froze to death before you got here."

"What is it with you Winchesters? Rush. Rush. Rush." Caleb moved his palm to Dean's forehead. "But speaking of your imitation of an ice cube, how you doing ?"

"He's not good," Sam answered, garnering a glare from his brother. "What took you so long?"

" _He's_ conscious," Dean snapped.

"Where's dad?" Sam ignored his brother.

"I'm here," John made his way through the door, stepping over the remains of Sam's barricade and the darkling's headless corpse. Sam watched him shove the crossbow he was holding toward Caleb before running a hand over Dean's hair. He gave his oldest son the briefest of smiles before he went into what Sam dubbed 'first responder' mode.

"Johnny had point right up until the part where he sent me in to face the bad guy." Caleb stood with the bow, making room for John at Dean's side. He gave a quick eye roll, a habit Sam had picked up much to his father and Dean's dislike. . "Youngest hunter always gets screwed by the the Handbook."

"I believe Johnathan's tactic had something to do with you having the best psychic shield as to sneak up on the creature, my boy." Pastor Jim was right behind Sam and Dean's father. He knelt on the other side of Sam, and winked at him before smiling down at Dean. "And then of course the link you two share gave Caleb the distinct advantage."

"What he gave me was the headache from hell." Dean returned the Pastor's grin. He jerked a thumb at Caleb. "Isn't there a rule about him keeping his thoughts to himself? "

"I was trying to keep you awake and abreast of the situation, Traitor."

"Abreast." Dean snorted. "Now there's a word I totally like."

"I'm glad to see someone has been making use of those thesauruses I purchased so long ago." Mackland noted as he also entered the small shack. Sam was further surprised when Bobby and Hollis Newberry clamored in as well, both of them armed for battle. If Caleb was Superman, he'd just brought the Justice League with him. Sam would never admit he preferred dragons to super heroes, but the effect was not lost on him. This just might have been one of Pastor Jim's Christmas miracles.

"Instead of being ungrateful, Deuce, be glad Johnny didn't send in Newberry with all his obsidian adornment." Caleb jutted his chin towards the younger hunter, and lowered his voice as if he didn't want Hollis to hear. In the small room everyone was privy. "But we're saving him in case we have company."

"Company?" Sam looked to his father, whose attention was still laser focused on Dean's wound.

"The Beira?" Dean asked, his gaze on Caleb once more, which Sam imagined was the older hunter's intentions all along. Caleb could be a walking distraction when he needed to be.

"What's a Beira?" Sam asked.

"A winter witch," Hollis responded as if everyone should have known the answer.

"It is not a witch," Mackland contradicted, shouldering his way beside Dean, which made Sam feel better. Mac was the only one in the group with an actual medical degree. "It's more of a nature deity."

"I wouldn't say deity," Jim added, succinctly. He patted Sam's knee. "More likely the creature is similar to a nymph and not nearly as dreadful as the darkling."

"Identity crisis aside, the fancy staff belongs to her, Kid," Bobby picked up the weapon, running his fingers gingerly along the glistening blade at the top. "She'll be wanting it back. That's all you really need to know."

"Can she fix Dean?" That was the only bit of information Sam really wanted to know. "Because he's dying."

"No, he's not," Caleb declared, moving closer to Dean once more.

"No, I'm not," Dean said at the same time.

Sam ignored his brother, the fact he was wounded giving him some leeway. Instead, he glared at Caleb. The spark of anger wasn't rational. It wasn't Caleb's fault Dean was hurt. He hadn't even been on the hunt with them, but it didn't stop Sam from taking his frustration and worry out on him. "From what I've seen the cold acts like a poison. It's not going to stop just because Superman and his broad sword showed up to save the day. Maybe if you'd taken its head before it actually _stabbed_ Dean..."

"I'm afraid Sam's right," Mac interrupted, gesturing to the wound John had exposed on Dean's side. "About the cold acting as poison, that is."

Sam caught the look Knight and Scholar exchanged before glancing to the site where the darkling had used the staff to pierce Dean's flesh. Fear replaced whatever wrath he'd managed. Sam was shocked to see that the chalky white area around the gash had spread, now covering most of Dean's stomach. "It wasn't that bad before."

"It's shutting down his systems." Mac righted Dean's shirt, shifted his hand to take Dean's pulse. "We don't have a lot of time. Typical measures are not going to be of any use."

"You know I've never done typical, Mac," Dean tried for humor, but his voice shook. Sam wasn't sure if it was from cold or fear.

"Where does that leave us, Mackland?" Jim asked. "Will spellwork be required? Should I call Missouri, perhaps Buzz..."

"Or maybe the Beira can reverse it?" Caleb interrupted, sounding almost as shaky as Dean. "She might not have done this, but the cold, just like the staff is a part of what she is. I felt her through the connection."

"Let's ask her." Their father was on his feet before anyone could protest. Sam watched his dad roughly take the staff from Bobby. He took a step forward, his gaze meeting Caleb's. "Ready with the mistletoe, Junior."

Sam wanted to ask about the mistletoe, but wasn't quick enough as his dad thrust the staff into the body of the darkling. He heard Bobby swear when the darkling's form was slowly enveloped in ice. When the cold spread, frost eating up the dirt floor to climb the walls of the shed, Jim muttered something, maybe a prayer. The temperature in the room plummeted. Sam could see his breath now, goose flesh of a different kind covered his arms. The windows froze over in showy ice crystals like a scene from a Christmas card.

"This isn't really helping with the freezing thing, Dad," Dean said, his shivering more pronounced.

"Easy, my boy." Jim placed a hand on the ground beside Dean. Sam was sure the frost shimmered for a moment around The Guardian's touch before receding away from them in small streams of water.

"Johnathan, I'm not sure this is..." Mac started, only to be struck speechless as a bright form took shape and filled the doorway.

Sam squinted. It hurt to look, like staring at a snow covered field in the bright of day. From what he could make out, his brain told him it could have been a woman wearing a long flowing cloak, her body as clear as an icicle. Sam could see through her. Then there was her face. Where bone and muscle should have formed features there was only a glowing white void, two shining orbs like sun struck glaciers subbing for some sort of eyes.

"Well, hell." Bobby lifted his own crossbow. Hollis followed suit. "Leave it to John to invite lady death to the door."

"She doesn't look anything like the picture of the hot chick," Hollis muttered.

John pulled the staff from the darkling's body, lifting it into the air. "I believe this belongs to you."

The Beira slid into the room. If it was possible, the air grew colder. Sam would not have been surprised if it had started to snow. The creature moved her head from side to side seeming to take in the scene, the weapons trained on her, keeping her from taking what was hers. She let loose with an unholy howl that outdid anything Old Man Winter could have conjured. Sam wanted to cover his ears but gripped his brother's wrist instead. He felt Jim sidle closer to both of them, blocking them from the Beira's view.

"Enough," John growled, gripping the staff with both hands now. "We're willing to make deal."

The Beira tilted her head, looking from John to Jim before those terrible glowing orbs settled on Caleb. Sam saw Mackland shift, his grip leaving Dean to grasp his own weapon.

"Sometimes being the best looking guy in the room is a freaking curse," Caleb said lightly with a forced laugh as the Beira moved even closer to him. He glanced to John, not raising the cross bow. "So much for all your warnings about catching the wrong girl's eye, Johnny."

"I have what you want," John said again, trying to regain the Beira's attention. "Don't make us hurt you. Help my son, and I'll give it to you then you can go on your way. No harm, no foul. "

The Beira ignored John. Her eyes glowed brighter and Caleb dropped the crossbow, gripping his head before doubling over with a cry of pain.

"Damien!" Dean tried to sit up.

"Caleb!" Mac scrambled to his feet. Sam was sure Dean would have made a valiant effort to do the same if Pastor Jim hadn't kept a tight hold on him. As it was he struggled against The Guardian's grasp.

"John?" Bobby raised his crossbow as he wrapped a hand in Mac's jacket to keep him from getting in the line of fire. Sam knew Singer was ready on the trigger. He was asking for permission. Sam was torn between wanting his father to give the go ahead for Bobby and Hollis to open fire, and hoping like hell their dad understood that destroying the creature could end any hope of helping Dean.

"Do something, Dad," Dean demanded. "End her."

"No!" It was Caleb who gave the command. He stayed doubled over, his hands braced on his knees. His breath rolled out in tiny clouds of condensation from the cold. "She's not attacking, damn it. I think she's trying to communicate. She doesn't have a light touch."

"Son?" Mackland sounded unsure. He pulled away from Bobby and moved between the crossbow and the Beira.

"She knows what I am." Caleb slowly straightened, his eyes going from the creature to his father. "She recognizes me from when I connected with the staff, and unavoidably with her. She wants me to let her in so I can understand. I think she needs to make physical contact to communicate."

"Then do it," John said. "Ask her if she can help Dean."

"No! No way," Dean snapped, "Keep your freaky thoughts and your hands to yourself, Damien. No making nice with Mrs. Cold Miser. I'm good."

Sam was pretty certain his brother's opinion would have been discounted even if his attempt to add some bravado hadn't been rendered almost pathetic by the fact his latest attempt to sit up and come to Caleb's aid had ended in a violent round of shivering. Pastor Jim wrapped one of the army blankets around Dean, held him tighter to his chest.

"Do you think you can make her understand what we want?" Mac asked.

"If I completely drop my blocks..." Caleb licked his lips. "Sure."

"Junior?" Sam watched his father lower the staff, look to the younger hunter. Sam could have been mistaken, but he thought he recognized an emotion he rarely saw in John's eyes–pleading.

"It's okay," Caleb glanced to Dean and Sam knew his mind was made up. Any other choice would have gone against everything Sam knew to be true about the older hunter. "I'll do it."

"Jim?" Now it was Dean who sounded on the verge of begging. For a terrible second Sam was afraid Dean would win out and the Pastor would give into to him, The Guardian's verdict overruling everyone else involved.

"Caleb will be fine, my boy." Jim turned his gaze to the Beira. "Our new friend will surely understand the wrath she would bring upon herself if otherwise. The Guardian of The Brotherhood will make sure of it."

"If she doesn't get it, we'll make it plain and clear very quickly," Bobby promised. He and Hollis had their crossbows at the ready.

Sam held his breath as the Beira moved closer to Caleb. He winced right along with the older boy as the thing reached towards him, her cloak masking whatever appendage she was offering to place against Caleb's face. Her eyes started to glow again. Caleb looked to be making a concentrated effort not to look away or move out of her reach.

"Talk about a major brain freeze," Newberry whispered.

"Shut up, Hollis."

Sam was surprised when Bobby, Mac and Jim all growled the command in unison. He almost felt sorry for the new hunter. As much as he wanted Dean well, he didn't want Caleb to be hurt. Sam watched Caleb's face for any signs of distress, but the psychic only looked determined.

Sam understood what seemed like long minutes while they all watched and waited was in actuality probably only a brief interlude, but he didn't breathe easy until Caleb took a step away from the creature and the Beira lowered her arm.

"Give her the staff, Johnny." Caleb glanced to Bobby and Hollis. "It's okay. Stand down."

"Are you sure?" John asked, as the other hunters lowered their weapons.

Caleb nodded. "She's sorry for what happened, for what the darkling did. She means no harm, just wants what's hers."

"And Dean?"

Caleb looked to Mac this time even though the question came from John. "I know what we need to do to save Deuce."

Sam watched as the Beira turned from Caleb, her ominous eyes going to his father. John offered the staff. The creature took it, disappearing in a burst of light and frigid blast of air.

"Girls can't get away fast enough after getting up close and intimate with Damien," Dean said, effectively breaking the tension in the room.

"No need for a satisfied customer to stick around, Deuce. Cuddling is way overrated." Caleb made his way back to Dean's side, mussing Sam's hair as he took a knee next to him. "You know the ladies always leave with a smile on their faces. I mean she didn't have a face, but if she did…"

Sam shoved his hand away. Relief that Caleb was fine gave way to his fear that Dean was not out of the woods. They were wasting time. "The only thing that matters is what the Beira left with you, Asshole."

"Boys," Jim looked from Caleb to Sam.

Sam resisted an eye roll, considering who was reprimanding them, and settled for 'thinking' some extremely unkind thoughts he hoped Caleb picked up on.

"Sam's right." John spoke up. "I hope to hell you know how to fix this, Caleb."

"I do," Caleb assured. "We just need to get him home as quick as possible."

John motioned to Bobby. "Let's go put together a litter to make that happen."

Bobby surprisingly didn't give his usual grumble at the Knight's command. Hollis looked torn on whether to follow the two older hunters out of the shed or stay where he was. Sam didn't think twice. He wasn't letting Dean out of his sight.

"I just hope Mrs Freeze didn't ice anymore of your brain cells, Dude." Dean kept up an attempt at banter. Sam recognized the worry in his brother's gaze as he kept his focus on Caleb.

"I'm good." Caleb's teasing smile shifted into one Sam knew was more genuine, one meant to reassure Dean. "Nothing some of Jim's hot chocolate won't cure once we get you back to the farm."

"Jim's hot chocolate sounds really good right about now," Dean admitted through chattering teeth.

"You'll be getting something else, Kiddo." Caleb glanced at Mac. "Seems part of Dad's research was right on the money."

"Really?" Mac arched a brow. "Which part?"

Caleb didn't answer his father but looked to Dean instead. "What are your thoughts on mistletoe, Deuce?"

Sam's brother didn't miss a beat. "Who the hell need's mistletoe to get lucky when you have looks like mine."

"Give me a break," Sam heard Hollis mutter under his breath.

Caleb laughed. "That's my boy."

This time when he ruffled Sam's hair Sam didn't even pretend to mind. If Caleb was up for joking, even if Sam felt he was missing the punch line, it was obvious Dean was going to be just fine.

RCJ

Dean Winchester was hot. Like the kind of hot when he'd spent an early summer's day of shirtless fishing by Pastor Jim's pond. Every inch of him reveled in the warmth. His skin comfortably tingled from the heat. He felt the need to stretch, leisurely, contentedly, like the farm cats in the sunlight that streamed through the slats of the barn. It was only when he attempted to move that he realized something was wrong. All thoughts of a morning nap by the water fled under the crushing panic of being restrained.

He was too hot. There was no way to escape. Thoughts of fire filled his mind, and Dean was suddenly four again. Flashes of flames licking up the walls of his old house in Kansas sprang unbidden, the choking smell of smoke and burnt flesh filling his nostrils. Images and sensations like vicious predators pouncing on unsuspecting prey. Dean tried to call out, even as every part of him wanted to run, to escape the overpowering heat.

"Hey, take it easy."

The familiar voice fought back the fear, a cool touch chased away the cruel memories.

"Dad?" He croaked, latching onto the safe haven his father represented.

"I'm here. You're fine."

"Where…" Dean opened his eyes, blinked the familiar room into focus. He was in Pastor Jim's downstairs guest room. One of the biggest comforts of Jim's place was that it never changed. Dean knew the landscape by heart. The faded cream wallpaper with the tiny poppies reflected in the lamp light. He was in the four-posted antique bed cocooned in a mass of blankets and quilts that explained the difficulty he had in moving his limbs, the sense of smothering. The massive Golden Retrieve draped over him wasn't helping matters. Atticus yawned, his tail swishing over the blankets when Dean's eyes met his.

"You're at Jim's." John shifted some of the blankets from around Dean. He nudged Atticus to move over, which the dog did with a sigh. "Your brother went overboard on the Mac's orders to keep you warm."

"Where is he?" Dean licked his lips, glad when his voice didn't sound as weak and full of fear as it had only moments before. "Sammy. Is he alright?"

"Your brother's fine. He and Caleb went with Jim and Bobby for a tree."

"They went to get a Christmas tree without me." Dean succeeded in pushing himself up higher in the bed. The twinge to his side had him recalling why exactly he was missing out on the yearly tradition.

"You aren't exactly in hiking shape, Ace. Christmas Eve is tomorrow."

"How long have I been out?"

"About twelve hours."

"Damn." Dean reached up to rub his forehead, feeling a dull ache behind his eyes. "That tea did a real number on me."

"Mac's mistletoe concoction knocked you out good."

"It sucked." The tea made with the leaves and berries of the mistletoe had been the Beira's great revelation to Caleb. Mac had been hesitant about Dean consuming it, unsure of the toxicity, but without an alternative cure, the doctor couldn't opt out. "I don't remember anything after drinking it."

"You were pretty far gone before we got you back here." John fiddled with the gold band on his left hand. "Scared the hell out of your brother and Caleb."

"They were here…" Dean now remembered waking a few times through the night. Caleb had been reading to him. Sam asleep in the chair by his bed.

"I had to order them out this morning. Mac thought the fresh air and exercise would do them some good."

Dean eyed the half empty bottle of Johnny Walker Red sitting on the night stand, wondered if that was John's way of taking the edge off the long vigil. No matter what his dad said, Dean knew Sam and Caleb had not been the only people he'd frightened.

"How do you feel now?" His father was staring at him.

Dean returned the gaze. John's eyes were red, bloodshot from lack of sleep or whiskey. He looked worn and Dean had an urgent desire to fix him, to take away the weight that had his father's broad shoulders slumping.

"I'm good, Dad."

"Really?" John raised a brow. "Mac said you'd feel like shit for a few days."

Dean took a moment to take stock. His head pounded now, and his whole body felt impossibly heavy as if moving very far might take the effort of Hercules. He tried for a grin. "By good I mean I feel like I had way too many shots of tequila and let Damien talk me into riding Diablo, the mechanical bull at McSorley's, but hey, I'm not freezing anymore."

"McSorley's, huh?" John's mouth twitched.

"One of Caleb's favorite dives in the city," Dean explained, realizing he should have used another comparison instead of referencing the killer hangover he'd had after a night on the town in NYC with his best friend. "Not that I've ever been there seeing as how I'm not twenty-one."

"Right." John ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. "It'll take some time to get your strength back, but the mistletoe stopped the spread of the Beira's poison. We got lucky. Mac expects a full recovery."

"I'm sorry." Dean didn't know what else to say. He'd let his father down.

"For what?" John sat up straighter, frowning at Dean.

"The darkling got the drop on me." Dean shuttered at how easily he'd been caught off guard. "It could have hurt Sam."

"Your brother's fine," John pointed out.

"No thanks to me." Dean didn't want to think what would have happened if the Calvary hadn't arrived when it did.

"I believe I was hunter in charge on this mission." John ran a hand over his beard. "And then there's the bit where I'm actually the parent. It's my job to watch out for both you boys."

"You do, Dad."

"Except when I don't."

Dean couldn't exactly refute that logic. He reframed. "You try."

John looked more haggard than ever. "I suppose that's something."

"We're all mostly in one piece and we made it home in time for Christmas." Dean wanted to erase the rare look of defeat on his father's face. It was enough to bring a flash of that first Christmas without their mom, the dim depressing motel room, the anguished shell of a man John had been then.

John snorted. "Because I'm all about celebrating the holidays. Santa I am not, Kiddo."

Dean grinned. He'd take some quality time with his dad over jolly old St. Nick any day. "Does that mean I'm not getting the title to the Impala this year?"

"You'll be lucky to get an orange and apple in your stocking, Son." John pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have no doubt your brother will be disappointed."

"Mac and Jim probably have something up their sleeves." Dean didn't mention the telescope he'd had Caleb pick up or the new soccer cleats and jersey. "The Pastor is all about the presents."

"So was your mom." A smile revealed his father's deep dimples, the same ones Sam had inherited. Dean wasn't sure what surprised him more the unusual easy grin or the fact his father had spoken of Mary Winchester without prompt or prodding. Maybe Mac's mistletoe tea had caused a hallucination. "The woman started buying stuff in July."

Dean stayed quiet, afraid any word on his part might break whatever spell that had fallen over the room and his unusually chatty father.

"You should have seen your first Christmas. It looked like Toys R Us had exploded. It didn't matter that you weren't quite one and you liked the boxes and paper more than what was actually inside. She loved watching you open everything. " All too quickly, the smile faded. Dean knew this rare glimpse into his childhood would soon disappear as well. "She was looking forward to Sam's first, had already hidden a ton of things in the closets she thought I didn't know about."

"I remember the football the year before," Dean said in a desperate attempt to keep the door open, just a bit longer. "The promise that came with it."

"That was your mom's idea." The memory seemed to do the opposite of what Dean hoped. He could almost feel the shift in mood, the impenetrable walls around his father's heart start to slide back into place.

"She gave me the greatest gift a guy could get." Dean wasn't talking about the football, and although he didn't say it, Dean knew his father understood he meant Sam.

"Same here, Ace." John reached out and squeezed Dean's wrist. "Twice."

Dean was almost convinced he was indeed still asleep, possibly dreaming, until the sound of pounding feet and Scout's sharp bark heralded Sam and Caleb's arrival into the room. Atticus yipped, stood up on the bed.

Caleb and Sam stopped just inside the doorway, both breathing hard. Their cheeks were red and Dean noted they were wearing winter coats. Gone were the t-shirts, replaced with gloves and scarves. It appeared The Beira had made good use of her staff since having it back.

"What's wrong?" Sam's concerned look soon turned to one of befuddlement as he took in the scene with Dean and their dad. Scout was not thwarted by John Winchester's rare touching bedside vigil. She passed both boys to jump on the bed where she usurped Atticus to ravish Dean with her tongue. The black Labrador was cold and damp with what Dean thought might be quickly melting snow flakes.

Caleb took a tentative step towards the bed, looking from John to Dean as he tossed his coat on the chair. "You okay, Deuce?"

"What's with all the running in the house?" John eased his hand from Dean's folding his arms over his chest as he turned on the bed to address his youngest son and protégé. "You two still in need of some maneuvers after your hike into the woods?"

"Caleb said Dean was awake," Sam moved to stand beside Caleb. He met Dean's gaze.

Dean smirked at his brother, happier than he would admit to seeing the kid was in one piece. "For once, Damien was right."

"Of course I was right." Caleb's concern gave way to a grin. He took the chair by the bed. "Glad you decided to rejoin us, Deuce."

"He said you called out for him." Sam punched Caleb in the shoulder as he found a perch on the arm of the Queen Anne and slid out of his jacket. He took off his gloves and shoved them in the coat's pocket. "We ran all the way here because he was worried."

John studied the younger hunter. "Weren't you in the back forty with Jim?"

Dean was glad for his father's redirection, not wanting to dwell on the fact he had unknowingly reached out for his best friend during the nightmare. Under the influence of Mac's tea or not, it was embarrassing. Dean was not some scared five-year-old who needed the older boy's protection.

Caleb took his intense gaze from Dean to glance at John. "I figured Bobby could handle the tree the rest of the way. Sammy and I did all the hard labor cutting it down."

"I think he just wanted to get back in time for his date." Sam grinned at Dean.

"Date?" Dean frowned. "Damn, Damien. Don't tell me you hooked up with some other chick besides the Ice Princess?"

"It's with Hollis." Sam bobbed his eyebrows.

"Shut up, Runt." Caleb shoved Sam, knocking him off the chair's arm. Scout barked in delight at the horseplay. "I'm just buying the guy a drink. Your kid brother's the one getting presents from him."

"Caleb's just mad he can't read my mind now." Dean watched his brother touch an unfamiliar bracelet on his wrist. It was made of thickly braded black leather bearing a stone Dean recognized as snowflake Obsidian. "I know what Mac got him for Christmas and it's killing him."

Caleb scoffed. "Like some jinxed jewelry is going to stop me."

"Hollis said its triple warded." Sam turned to Dean, pulling a similar necklace from beneath his shirt. "He gave me this, too. I'm currently in a total Caleb-free zone."

"Wow," Dean looked at Caleb, noting the eye roll that was very Sam-like. His best friend might pretend at nonchalance, but Dean understood what it meant for a hunter outside their inner circle to make such a gesture of confidence. "You and Newberry must have bonded if he doesn't think he needs his Kryptonite against your freaky mind powers anymore, _and_ you're springing for rounds. Should I be worried about my best friend status?"

"Don't be jealous, Deuce. It's just a beer."

"With someone who is actually of legal drinking age for a change," John said, shooting first Dean then Caleb one of his typical dark looks. 'If you ask me Junior needs a few more grown up friends."

"Says the guy who saddled me with nanny duties all those years ago. It's not like I asked to be your kids' life-long babysitter."

"Hey! We're not babies," Sam spoke up realizing the insult. Dean had the urge to second his brother's disgruntlement, but realized just how the declaration might be used as a point against his maturity level. He was satisfied to send a few silent lewd suggestions his best friend's way. Thankfully, Dean's thoughts were not currently in a psychic free zone if Caleb's sharp laugh was any indication.

"Right now I'm more concerned with what other duties you're currently shirking, soldier." John stood, gestured to Sam and Caleb. "The decorations aren't going to get themselves out of the attic boys."

"I thought Pastor Jim gave you that job." Sam folded his arms over his chest, mocking his father's earlier fowl glower.

"I'm delegating. It's what the guy with the stripes does." John gripped his youngest son's shoulder. Despite the order, Dean recognized the lighter tone, the one that hinted their father's rare good mood might continue. "Besides, your brother needs his rest if he's going to be up for any Christmas Eve festivities."

"But you're better, right?" Sam stood, moving to the side of the bed where he stared down at Dean once more.

"I'm good, Little Brother." Despite all of Sam's claims of being on his way to adulthood, Dean still caught flashes of the kid who feared the unthinkable, the boy who insisted on holding Dean's hand at bedtime and who had followed him around like the proverbial shadow for the first ten or so years of his life. Dean lifted his fist, held it out to his brother. "Thanks for being on your game while I was out of it. You did good for a rookie."

The color in Sam's cheeks deepened redder than they were when he'd first come in from the weather, but he bumped his knuckles against Dean's. "I'm just glad you're not cold anymore."

"All's back to normal," Dean assured. "I'm once again the hottest Winchester as it should be."

"Maybe you're right, Dad." Sam pulled his hand away, turning to his father. "I think he's still delusional."

"If he thinks _he's_ the best looking man in this family then I'll have to agree." John gave Sam a push towards the door. Scout jumped down to follow. "Maybe we should see if Mac has any more of that tea to give him."

"No more tea," Dean called after his family as they left the room. He winced as the shouting caused a tug on his side. He leaned back on the pillows, and glanced up at Caleb with a pained grimace. He was not above using his current situation as an advantage. "How about it, Damien? Hot chocolate? Please?"

"Seriously?" Caleb moved from the chair to take the spot on the bed Dean's dad had vacated. Atticus stepped across Dean to wedge his body as close to the older hunter as possible. "After all those nasty things you said to me earlier. "

"Technically, I didn't say anything." Dean smirked. "You should know better than to read my mind without permission."

"True." Caleb conceded, running a hand over Atticus's head, the old Retriever rolling over to offer his belly for a rub. "Since we're being so honest with each other, how are you really feeling?"

"I thought my feelings about you came across loud and clear?" Dean tried for a redirection. Caleb's narrowed gaze proved his friend wasn't about to let him off the hook. "I'm okay. Really. No permanent damage."

"And the bad dream…"

Dean shook his head. "Was just a dream."

I'm sorry I wasn't here." Caleb sighed. "My timing really has sucked on this gig."

"Dude, you saved my life." Dean realized his reassurances weren't going to work as easy on Caleb as they had Sam. Dean didn't know if it was a psychic thing or an older sibling thing. Maybe a bit of both. "You were there when it counted. Besides, you're not on bad dream duty. It was nothing."

"Still…" Caleb obliged Atticus by scratching his chest in a way that had the dog's back foot thumping wildly. "I was keeping tabs on you until Johnny ordered me to help with the tree."

"That why you look like death warmed over?" Caleb often took his duties as protector to the extreme, though Dean understood calling his best friend out on the nasty habit would make him quite the hypocrite. If Dean had an ability to protect Sam from the dark things that found them in their sleep he would have become an insomniac years ago. "You've been standing psychic watch?"

"Mac said the tea might have some hallucinogenic properties." Caleb shifted his focus to Atticus's ears, much to the dog's delight. He glanced at Dean. "And you were hurting enough as it was."

"Drugs don't always mix well with our past traumas." You didn't live through what they did on a daily basis and not rack up on a back log of repressed feelings. Cramped motel rooms and thin-walled farm houses from the 1800's didn't leave much to the imagination when it came to knowing each other's personal demons.

"That's why I always told you to 'Just say No'."

"I listened." Dean grinned when Caleb arched a brow. "Mostly."

"With you Winchesters, I guess that's the most a guy can really expect."

"Pot meet Kettle." Dean pointed to Caleb. "Following orders has never been your strong suit, Damien. To hear Dad tell it you consistently set a bad example for me."

"I do everything Johnny tells me." Caleb grinned and it was Dean's turn to raise a questioning brow. Caleb slapped his leg. "Mostly."

"Right."

"Which is why I suppose I will sneak you a mug of Jim's Christmas cheer before I head out with Newberry." Caleb gave Atticus a final rub down and stood. "That is if you plan on staying awake for a while and my services won't be needed."

"I'm good, Dude." Dean had no doubt he could show the least bit of hesitation and Caleb would cancel on Hollis to sit bedside with him, to do what he could to vanquish any residual bad memories that might be lurking. Dean could admit there was the slightest temptation to do just that, especially after his Dad's remark about Caleb finding more friends his own age. "Go hang out with Lois Lane."

"Keep that up and I'll skip the kitchen run." Caleb made a move towards the door, but then turned back around. "Did I mention Jim went on a baking frenzy while we were waiting for you to thaw out?"

"Please tell me there are sugar cookies." Some of Pastor Jim's best recipes were born during times of stress and worry. The Guardian was never quicker to don an apron and chef's hat as when one of his boys was in peril and he felt useless to help.

"With three different kinds of sprinkles," Caleb said.

"Finally something good comes from my Arctic experience."

"That and Sam's white Christmas." Caleb nodded towards the window. "It's snowing with no signs of stopping. He thinks the Beira is expressing her gratitude."

"Or maybe Santa does exist, Damien." Dean petted Atticus who had stretched his long body near him once more.

Caleb snorted. "Maybe Hollis and I will run into Heidi Klum and a bunch of her modeling friends at the Watering Hole in New Haven."

"Well, it is almost your birthday," Dean tossed out, knowing he could be opening the door for Caleb's yearly rant about sharing his big day with Christmas. "You could make your wish early."

Caleb folded his arms over his chest. "Didn't we have this conversation, oh, I don't know about twelve years ago?"

"You mean the one where you crushed the hopes of a five year old?" Dean sighed, unable to resist making his best friend squirm. "I've never been the same you know."

"I remember that heart to heart a little differently, Deuce. I was protecting you." Caleb started for the door once more, obviously over the game.

"Just what all the soul destroyers say," Dean called out.

"Speaking of soul destroyers…" His friend stopped at the door, turning to look at Dean once more. His face was serious now, reflecting worry like it had when he and Sam had first come in. "I meant to ask you about that little moment Sam and I interrupted. You and Johnny looked pretty intense. I hope he wasn't giving you a hard time over the hunt because if that was the case..."

"No, man," Dean interrupted before Caleb got the wrong idea. There was enough tension between his father and Sam now that Sam was verging into the teen years. He didn't want to add Caleb mouthing off to the mix. "Believe it or not we were talking about Christmas."

Caleb leaned against the door frame, his forehead screwed up as if he was trying to determine if Dean was pulling his leg. "Because Johnny is all about the holidays."

"Really. We were talking about the best presents we had ever gotten."

"Presents, huh," Caleb pushed away from the door.

Dean nodded. "Favorite gifts."

"That's easy." Caleb's scowl softened as he regarded Dean. "Hands down best gift I ever got was a bag of M&M's."

He didn't give Dean a chance to respond, turning and leaving before Dean could form a coherent thought. The M&M's had been the only thing Dean had to offer that first Christmas at the farm so many years ago. He'd almost forgotten about them. What he did recall vividly was the massive amounts of presents Caleb had under the tree that morning, all of which apparently paled with Dean's meager offering.

"Did you hear that, Atticus?" Dean patted the dogs head. Atticus offered a happy grin in return. "You are my only witness because there is no way in hell Damien will ever admit such a thing again. _I_ am Caleb Reaves' happiest Christmas memory."

Dean wasn't surprised. He understood perfectly well. It was a family thing. Becoming a big brother was better than being handed a cape and granted super powers. A guy was transformed, instant hero. It was by far the best gift ever.

The end…for now.


End file.
